Gospel Story Finder

There’s a young man in the mission field who’s made that choice in the last month. I heard his story, but there must have been thousands of such choices made last month. His companion would have made Job’s critical friends seem like the Three Nephites. Just living and working with his companion required more contribution than the young missionary had dreamed he was going to have to make. The mission president authorized them to stay in their apartment because wind brought the effective temperature to 80 degrees below zero. So, the young man had to decide, “Shall we go out? We’ve been tracting and it’s produced nothing. For what it would cost us, what would we get? We haven’t got a contact, so we’d be just hitting doors.” Well, he went—that’s an odd investment decision, but he went. What he got was to meet one man, behind one of a hundred doors. In his letter about the man’s baptism, he said, “I’ve never been more happy in my life.”

When we first married, we were content in London. But when our eldest child reached school age, we faced a challenge. In the local school, English was the first language for only a small minority of children. Teachers had to focus heavily on teaching English to pupils from twenty-seven different nationalities. This inevitably affected the education of native English speakers. Around that time Paul was released as bishop. We felt it was a natural moment to consider moving.
We prayed about it, asking, ‘Where do you want us to go, dear Lord?’ That prayer became the pattern for all our future decisions. We have always found ourselves in small Church units—places where there was much work to do and few to do it.
We did not set out with Cornwall in mind. We simply wanted a rural setting for our children. Paul applied for several jobs. Cornwall County Council offered him an interview, then the job. We spent eighteen happy years there, blessed despite many callings, cramped meeting rooms and the extra pressures of tourist season. Eventually we felt prompted to move again—this time to Alnwick, the most northerly branch of the Church in England.

Shortly after joining the church, our family immigrated to the United States. We first settled in Washington D.C. We belonged to a ward whose members were primarily married professional couples or retirees. There were not many young men or young women in the ward. My siblings and I felt totally out of place. We simply did not fit in. Adapting to a new country with a language handicap and cultural differences made it extremely difficult to put church attendance on the top of my priority list. I had a paper route that required me to get up at 3 am in the morning to deliver the Sunday newspaper to 200 homes. Excuses for not attending church on Sunday piled up very quickly, yet our home teacher and his wife would come to our home to pick us up for church every Sunday. I recall more times than I can count on two hands that I didn’t even wake up to answer the door bell on some Sundays. My behavior never deterred him. He was a dedicated Melchizedek Priesthood holder who understood his priesthood responsibilities. He faithfully served and magnified his calling as directed by his Quorum president. He shepherded his semi-lost sheep without any hesitation or murmurs. I do not remember his name but I have never forgotten the images of him and his wife’s smiling faces when they came to our home on Sunday mornings. They understood the true meaning of our Savior’s instruction to Peter, that is, “Feed my sheep.”

This year when I changed to a new school, I cried a lot because I didn’t want to leave my old friends. I told myself I would never like my new school and felt like I would be betraying my old friends if I made new ones.
All week, I kept a frown on my face. I didn’t talk to anyone. There were some girls who tried talking with me, but I wasn’t looking to make friends with them.
One day, I realized I didn’t want to be alone. I saw that I needed to be more open. While watching a television series about Jesus Christ, I was inspired to think about how He made friends. Even He didn’t please everyone, but for most people, He changed their life.
Because of Christ’s example, I decided to try to make new friends, even with the fear I had. I was afraid because I was shy and worried that people would make fun of me. But I had the thought, “You have a Father in Heaven who will help you. Even if everyone rejects you, He will be there.”
Now looking back, I can see that the one Friend who never left me during that time was the Savior. Because of the hard experiences I went through, I got so much closer to Him. He loves us so much that He gave His own life for us. And He gave us the scriptures so we can know how to be like Him. You can always count on Jesus Christ to be your Friend.
Rebeca C., age 13, Ceará, Brazil
Enjoys playing volleyball, reading, and drawing.

Wilford Woodruff (1807–98), who later became the fourth President of the Church, was once sleeping outside in his wagon with his wife and child when the Spirit whispered, “Get up and move [your] carriage.”1 He could have dismissed it as a strange idea, but instead he obeyed. Half an hour later, a whirlwind snapped off an enormous tree and flung it through the air. The tree landed exactly where the wagon had been.

On one occasion my wife expected to be away for the weekend and asked one of the sisters in our ward to teach her Relief Society lesson. The week following the session, that sister came to our home and returned the instruction manual. She also brought to my wife a freshly baked loaf of bread and a handwritten note that read, “I love you. You are a special person. Thank you for thinking of me.” She was grateful to have been asked to serve. She was full of the love of Christ.

For the past 20 months, our family has been blessed with the privilege of having a very special baby.
Little Paxton, our grandson, was born with a very rare chromosomal deletion, a genetic disorder that distinguishes him, literally, as one in hundreds of millions. For our daughter and her husband, an uncharted, life-changing journey began when Paxton was born. This experience has become a crucible for learning special lessons tied to the eternities.
Shortly after precious Paxton was born, we knew Heavenly Father would bless us and teach us special lessons. As his father and I put our fingers on his tiny head in the first of many priesthood blessings, the words came into my mind from the ninth chapter of John: “That the works of God should be made manifest in him.”
God’s works are definitely being made manifest through Paxton.
We are learning patience, faith, and gratitude through the balm of service, endless hours of intense emotions, tears of empathy, and the prayers and expressions of love for dear ones in need, especially Paxton and his parents.
As described in Mosiah, we have witnessed the Savior’s pure love given to Paxton’s family, which love is available to all: “And now it came to pass that the burdens which were laid upon Alma and his brethren were made light; yea, the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord.”

The older members of the Farr West Third Ward, Plain City Utah Stake, were invited to an evening of formal dining and dancing hosted by the ward’s Young Men and Young Women.
The young people, dressed in their best, picked up their special guests in chauffeur-driven cars. They served dinner, provided a photographer to record the event, and led a sing-along.
The young hosts had earned the money to hold the dinner by sponsoring a spook alley during the week preceding Halloween.

From Dream to Reality: A Young Leader’s Culinary Journey
Meet Yazé Aristophane Guy-Landry, a dynamic young single adult leader in the Grand-Bassam Côte d’Ivoire Stake, whose journey of self-reliance began at the Gathering Place. It was there, in a simple pâtisserie class, that Yazé discovered a passion for baking and a newfound confidence in his talents.
That spark ignited a bold step forward—he enrolled at the École Hôtelière de Grand-Bassam, where he is now thriving in his culinary studies. As he builds his skills, Yazé is also gaining valuable experience by working at the hotel. His goal is clear: to eventually launch his own restaurant.
Reflecting on this journey, he shared, “This experience is changing the way I viewed life some time ago. I am convinced that if I work well, with God’s help, I will be financially good and self-sufficient.”
Yazé credits the Gathering Place not just for his career direction but also for deep personal and spiritual growth. “I can truly attest to the authenticity of this program called Gathering Place,” he said. “I believe it is a gift from heaven and carried out by our leaders to bring together the youth of the Church and their friends in an enchanted place, allowing them to learn more, whether it be skills training or the importance of human values, helping us to keep our covenants and stay on the right path.”
For Yazé, the Gathering Place is more than a classroom—it’s a community. “I had the opportunity to get to know several members and friends. I even believe that my marriage will come from the Gathering Place. I invite all my young single adult friends to give this program the utmost importance.”
Yazé’s story is a powerful example of how the Gathering Place is transforming lives, helping young adults turn hope into action and dreams into achievement.

“When will Uncle Cory be here?” Michael asked his mother for at least the tenth time.
Earlier that afternoon the mailman had delivered a letter addressed to him, but when he opened it he couldn’t read what it said. Michael’s mother told him that the letter was written in Italian, and all she could read was the closing and signature at the bottom:
Arrivederci,Mario
Michael knew that arrivederci meant till we meet again, because that was how Uncle Cory’s letters were always signed when he was in Italy on a mission. Michael had called his uncle and told him about the letter. Now he was waiting impatiently for him to come and interpret what the letter said.
A few months before Uncle Cory had returned from Italy, he had written and asked Michael and his family to write their feelings about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in letters to individual members of a certain Italian family and send them back to him. He said he would put the letters in a Book of Mormon and give them to the family. Michael had written—
Dear Mario,
I am eight years old. I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints last month. My father baptized me and confirmed me and said that I now have the Holy Ghost to guide me and to help me choose right from wrong. I go to Primary each week. I’m in the CTR class. CTR means CHOOSE THE RIGHT. Last week my Primary teacher taught us about Jesus healing sick children. Jesus loves children everywhere. He loves me and He loves you. I hope you can soon go to Primary too.
Your Friend,Michael
Michael hadn’t expected to receive a letter in return, but now that one had come, he could hardly wait to know what it said.
Pretty soon he heard the sound of a car in the driveway. Running to the window, he looked out and saw Uncle Cory coming up the walk. Michael ran and opened the door and gave his uncle a big hug.
Michael listened quietly as Uncle Cory read the letter.
Dear Michael,
I am nine years old. Today I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My father and mother were baptized too. Thank you for telling me about your church. My father and mother read your Book of Mormon, and now we are all happy to be members of the true church. Write to me again soon.
Arrivederci,Mario
Michael was so excited to know that he had helped bring the gospel to someone that he thought his heart would pound right out of his chest. He took the letter from his uncle and looked at it for a long time. Then he folded the letter neatly. “I will save this,” he said, “to remind me that it’s fun to tell others about our church. Maybe someday I’ll go on a mission to Italy and meet my new friend Mario.”

In 1897, David O. McKay was called to serve a mission in Scotland. He was thrilled to return to his “motherland” and had very high expectations of bringing the restored gospel to his kin. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much enthusiasm for a message about God, Jesus Christ, and a restored church brought about by a boy-prophet. Even when he was able to share his message, he was ridiculed for his “American” accent. To make matters worse, there were some asserting that missionaries didn’t come to Scotland to share a message, but to steal their “bonny lasses” away for plural marriage. Some of you returned-missionaries know all too well what I am talking about. Feeling a bit sorry for himself, he and his companion went on a diversion for the day (or what we now call a “P-day”) and they went sight-seeing. Well, it appears that this one “diversion day” turned into several days of diversion and touring. And on one of these diversion days, David O. McKay found himself standing at the wall of Stirling Castle taking in the historic sites before him. They left touring the Castle around five o’clock to return to their newly acquired lodgings. As the two missionaries walked along Back O’ Hill Road, they approached a construction site for new apartments that would be known as the Albany Crescent buildings. From the sidewalk, David O. McKay noticed something unusual about the building. “Over the front door was a stone...something unusual in a residence, and what was still more unusual, I could see from the sidewalk that there was an inscription chiseled in that arch…” McKay recalled: “I was half way up the graveled walk, when there came to my eyesight a striking motto carved in stone-- “What e’er Thou Art, Act Well thy Part...’”

This motto had an immediate and profound impact upon McKay. Of this experience, David Lawrence McKay, David O. McKay’s son, said that “this message struck Father forcefully.” Although McKay only talked about the impact that this phrase had upon him, the lower section of the stone should not be overlooked or dismissed. In fact, it appears that John Allan included the lower portion of the stone to emphasize the meaning and application of the motto in a dramatic and peculiar fashion.

It is possible that this relationship was understood by David O. McKay as is evident from his musings and thoughts after seeing the stone. His experience with the stone’s message seemed to simmer in his mind and in his heart. As McKay and Johnston walked back to their apartment, McKay expressed personal lessons and applications that were forming within him. He thought about his days of playing football at the University of Utah and told his companion of a custodian and how this humble man helped with the football gear and even assisted the players with their homework. “He was unassuming, unostentatious” McKay said of the custodian, “But he did his duty well.” Upon reflection, McKay concluded, “I realized then that I had just as great a respect for that man as I had for any professor in whose class I had sat. He acted well his part.” It is important to point out that McKay was not only seeing the importance of a man who did his duty honorably but that he may well have been seeing the relationship between the custodian’s part, the professor’s part, the football team’s part, and how each was connected one to the other and all were connected with the greater whole—the university. You see, it doesn’t really matter what number you are, it matters how well you act your part.

McKay then reflected upon his “own part.” He thought of his activities prior to seeing the stone. He and his companion were sightseeing and even though he was impressed with the landscape, history and the courage of his Scottish heritage, he decided that his activity “was not missionary work.” He concluded: “Well, I am here as a missionary so I will act the part and be a good missionary!” Once again, however, it appears that McKay may have understood the greater context of the message. He said that as he was walking with Johnston he silently thought, “I thought about this motto, ‘What e’er Thou Art, Act Well thy Part,’ and took it as a direct message to me, and I said to myself, or the Spirit said to me, ‘You are a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; more than that—you are here in the Mission Field as a representative of the Church, and you are to act well your part as a missionary, and you get into the work with all your heart.” Obviously McKay could see the importance of being a good missionary, but he was also seeing how that related with a greater context—being a member of the Church. “I accepted the message given to me on that stone,” McKay reported, “and from that moment we tried to do our part as missionaries in Scotland.” Of this pledge, McKay’s son, David Lawrence McKay, said that his father’s rededication was done “completely and wholeheartedly.”

Nearly a year after this experience, McKay received a letter of encouragement from his sweetheart, Emma Ray Riggs, who counseled him to do his work well. Emma Ray’s phraseology apparently triggered a memory. In McKay’s response dated April 25, 1899, he reminisced on the experience he had in Stirling with the Allan stone. “As I again read your letter now before me, a warm feeling of appreciation of your encouraging words come over me; and your advice— ‘Do your work well’—will ever be remembered…It reminds me of a beautiful inscription carved over the door of one of the cottages in the east part of Stirling: ‘What e’er thou art, act well thy part.’ If one only chooses the good part and does his work well, success and happiness will certainly be his.”

The impact of the stone for McKay extended beyond his missionary service in Scotland. In later sermons, McKay spoke of the connection between the “parts” of our lives whether missionary, friend, family, neighbor, country, human race, and every creature. He often attributed his experience with the John Allan Albany Crescent stone, as the genesis—of sorts—to this understanding. “Remember this as a guideline in whatever position you are called to serve,” President McKay once taught in General Conference, ‘What e’er thou art, act well thy part.”

Veronica’s story, Madrid, Spain
When Veronica (pictured below) was 17, her twin sister died in her arms. Three years after her sister’s death, on her own and struggling through life, Veronica started going for walks to work out her feelings of sadness. She had always believed in God, so one day while she was walking, she prayed, “Lord, why are you doing all of this to me?”
At that moment, she looked up at an LDS Church building she had always passed by. Really seeing it for the first time, she became curious; she went inside and introduced herself to two sister missionaries, who taught her later that week.
Veronica says that after the first lesson, “I stood up and told them, ‘You’re all crazy,’ and I left.” She didn’t want any of it, but eventually she began to reconsider.
“I think it was the first time I prayed so much. I felt like God was telling me, ‘I am sending you this opportunity so that you can get to know me better. Don’t you want it?’”
She decided she did want it. Despite losing her home and her job because of the gospel, she was baptized. Even though her life continued to be difficult sometimes, she trusted in the Lord. “Before I knew about the Church, I would cry or get mad if I didn’t know how I was going to pay my rent. But now I know that the Lord will provide.”
Veronica’s patriarchal blessing told her that she was to serve a mission, but she didn’t have any skirts or any way to buy them. A member of the Seventy and his wife were passing through the area and heard about her need; the wife had felt inspired to pack extra skirts for the trip, and she gave many of them to Veronica. She also encouraged Veronica to attend institute. When Veronica’s bishop started an institute program for their area, she began attending regularly.
Institute has given her peace and happiness. “I think what I like the most about institute is that during the week, we have a lot of different tasks to do. We have Sundays to renew our covenants with Heavenly Father. But on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, what do we have? I am grateful that we have institute at least once during the week because it is a way to remember Jesus Christ. Institute is one way He’s helping me progress.”
And Veronica did serve a mission. In October 2016 she left to serve in the Chile Osorno Mission.
She says, “I know that I’m here today because of Him. I know that He has prepared a plan perfect for each one of us. He will give us opportunities throughout our lives. I can feel His love every day, even though sometimes I say, ‘Father, why is this happening to me?’ But before I go to sleep, He responds, ‘This is happening because of this. Now go to sleep.’ And I love Him, too. Maybe I had to go through everything I went through to come to feel so much love for Him.”

Our stake president gave our stake a challenge to find family names to take to the temple. It was called a 40-day challenge because we had 40 days to find the names. During the challenge I went to FamilySearch.org.
As I was looking at my ancestors, I got this feeling that I never had before. I felt that some of my ancestors did not have their temple work done. The next thing I did was look for them on my family tree. After a while I found one ancestor who needed temple work. After that I found more ancestors needing temple work.
After a little bit I found five families needing temple work. After I found all the names, I got a warm feeling in my heart. Now my parents have family names to take to the temple. I fulfilled the stake president’s challenge to find one or more ancestors that need their temple work done.
Even though I am seven years old, I am still a good example. I still have that feeling, and I am still looking for ancestors that need temple work done. This is the best experience I have ever had, and I will never forget how I felt.

Thanks to 150 young people in the Dallas East Stake, some long-gone residents of Texas will not be forgotten. The youth spent their three-day youth conference cleaning up the local Oakland Cemetery and extracting names from the headstones. In all, they submitted 2,500 names to the Family History Department.
Howard Hooper, an administrator at the cemetery, had this to say about their efforts: “I had lived perfectly convinced that all the young people of today are soft, spoiled, pampered and definitely irresponsible. But your visit to the Oakland Cemetery has taught me much. Your demonstrating your amazing vim, vigor, and vitality, plus your daring bravery against fire ants from Mars, showed me that if you are soft, spoiled, and pampered, you are doing a good job of hiding the fact.”

Many years ago, while working as a street vendor in a little town in Poland, I met a man named Nikolai Shaveko. We discovered that we both came from Chernigov, Ukraine, and quickly became friends.
Eventually I learned that Nikolai had no place to stay, so my wife and I invited him to stay with us. Our apartment wasn’t very warm or comfortable, but we had an extra room. He gratefully agreed and stayed with us for a time. He began to see how we lived.
Like most vendors selling household goods, we needed to work long and hard to have enough money to live. But unlike most people, my wife and I didn’t work Sundays. One day, Nikolai asked why. Why would we skip working and making money for an entire day?
“Sundays do not exist for working or making money,” I told him. “They were made for a different purpose.”
“But how can you afford to pay for food and rent if you don’t work seven days a week?” he asked.
To answer his question, we invited him to come worship with us. That was his first experience hearing about the Church, and he didn’t take to it right away. He still thought we were incredibly odd for choosing going to meetings over making money. But from that moment on, we frequently talked to him about our beliefs, and little by little, he became more and more interested.
Nikolai saw us living what we knew to be true. He saw the blessings that came into our lives. Yes, it was hard to earn enough money to live, but we knew that it was right to keep the Sabbath day holy. And the Lord blessed us. We always had enough money for the things we needed. That strengthened our testimony of the principle and helped us be better witnesses to Nikolai. We had the conviction to invite him, “Try it, and you will see!”
One week, he did.
Instead of going to work, he came to church with us. He didn’t think it was possible to work only six days a week, but because of the hope and blessings he saw in our lives, he tried it.
That week, when he counted his money, he was surprised. He had made more money that week than he normally made by working seven days a week!
The same thing happened when we talked about tithing. At first, Nikolai couldn’t understand how we could give up 10 percent of our income.
“I will never have enough to do that!” he insisted.
We just shrugged. “If you try it, you will see.”
He was incredulous, but then slowly smiled. “So it’s like not working on Sundays,” he said. “If you pay your tithing, you will have enough money for yourself and what you need.”
That was a big revelation for Nikolai. He learned for himself that if we follow God’s commandments, God will bless us and things will work out for our benefit.
When Nikolai returned home to Chernigov, he invited the missionaries to teach him and his family. Soon he and his family joined the Church. Later, Nikolai served as a branch president, and his daughter served a mission in Russia.
We loved talking to Nikolai about the Church, but in the end, inviting him to live the principles of the gospel was more powerful than simply telling him about them. He and his family gained testimonies and changed their lives because they chose to live gospel truths.

I actually had a horse who helped me appreciate the amazing process of change. When our children were young, my wife and I looked for a gentle, well-broke children’s horse. Our neighbor had such a horse, but he would sell us kind and gentle Bob only if we also bought his other horse, Stubby. The names alone describe the horses. Eventually we decided to purchase both horses in order to acquire Bob.

Sure enough, Bob was wonderful, and Stubby ended up being, as expected, a stubborn, strong-willed, obnoxious animal who consistently acted up and caused trouble with the other horses. Because of our limited number of horses, I usually ended up riding Stubby during our family rides. He was defiant. When I tried to turn right, Stubby fought to go left. If I wanted to gallop, he would buck or crow-hop.

I decided to do all I could to help bring about a change in Stubby’s disposition. I gave him consequences for bad behavior and rewarded him for good behavior. I rode him side by side our well-behaved horses. I rode him frequently and groomed him often. Over time, after many rides—and somewhat to my surprise—Stubby began to soften. He submitted more readily to the saddle and bridle, and he was less determined to have his own way. He began allowing me to guide and control him without resistance. At times he even seemed to enjoy our time together.

As Stubby’s disposition improved, he surprisingly became my horse of choice. He was energetic and had good stamina. He was not at all hesitant or fearful in challenging situations, and in a group of other horses, he led out without needing to be urged on. Over a period of ten to fifteen years, Stubby developed into an exceptional lead horse. I was very grateful that I hadn’t given up on him during those earlier challenging years. In fact, Stubby made such a turnaround that we changed his name to Spinner.

When I walked to the pasture, Spinner was quick to come to me. He recognized me and seemed eager to please. He responded to the ­gentlest commands. I could ride him easily without a saddle or even a bit in his mouth. We spent many pleasurable hours together. He was very gentle and became a favorite horse of our grandchildren. He took care of our granddaughters, and he tolerated our grandsons. We would say, in horse lingo, that he was well broke. Spinner gave up his wild nature and aligned his will with his owner’s—or his master’s—will.

Spinner underwent a major change or transformation, but it took time, patience, and a lot of work. Through this process of change, Spinner’s life improved immensely, and so did mine! It broke my heart when he passed away this past spring. We buried him in a place of honor, marked with a hitching post and his halter.

I love hanging out with friends, but I’ve had to move a lot for my dad’s work. After I left my friends in Oklahoma to go to Texas, I had a tough freshman year and separated myself from everybody. Then I attended seminary. My seminary teachers were like angels from heaven. I opened myself up more, made friends, and went on a temple trip. Seminary was the only place outside of home where I felt like I belonged.
Bailee T., 17, Louisiana, USA

And President Spencer W. Kimball shared the following in a conference talk to the priesthood of the Church:
“I remember when I was a deacon. (It has been a long time ago, however.) I thought it was a great honor to be a deacon. My father was always considerate of my responsibilities and always permitted me to take the buggy and horse to gather fast offerings. My responsibility included that part of the town in which I lived, but it was quite a long walk to the homes, and a sack of flour or a bottle of fruit or vegetables or bread became quite heavy as it accumulated. So the buggy was very comfortable and functional. We have changed to cash in later days, but it was commodities in my day. It was a very great honor to do this service for my Heavenly Father; and though times have changed, when money is given generally instead of commodities, it is still a great honor to perform this service.

The ninth man to see Moroni was a man named Zera Pulsipher. He was a minister of another church. He had a vision in his barn. While he was out in the barn one day, a light descended upon him in the middle of this barn, and he looked up and saw Moroni. And Moroni blessed his life and showed him the plates. He became a Seventy in the Church. He became a high priest and became a patriarch. He’s the man who converted and baptized Wilford Woodruff into the Church in 1833.

Every time Olin Pinter heard his Uncle Pembroke’s coal-box buggy banging over the little bridge just up the ridge from his family’s sod house, the boy hooted louder than a lightning-struck owl and ran to greet his uncle.
Outside of a good meal, Olin reckoned Uncle Pembroke was the most welcome sight the end of a day could bring. The bearded, gray-haired wheelwright, who rode out from Livingston every month or so to talk and laugh and spend the night, always brought with him his magic black felt hat.
Following supper and some fireside talk, and maybe even a tall tale or two, Arthur Pembroke would ask Olin to fetch his hat from the deerhorn coatrack on the wall where he always hung it when he first came in. In less time than it took Uncle Pembroke to shake his head and slap his knee, Olin would be back with the tall headpiece.
He would plop down on the old bearskin rug in front of his uncle, his brown eyes glued to the strange hat in the dancing firelight. Olin would fidget anxiously as the stout little man rubbed his hands together, scratched his invisible chin through his long whiskers, and winked slyly at Olin’s father and mother. Then Uncle Pembroke would pretend to clean a dust speck off his gold-rimmed spectacles with his old red bandanna.
Just when it appeared that his nephew’s patience would give out, the little man would burst out laughing and reach into the hat. Olin would sit spellbound, as though the slightest movement would somehow jinx the flow of magic from the hat.
Almost anything could appear from the hat. Maybe, Olin reasoned, that was the best part of all—the not knowing. One time a real live rabbit was pulled from it! Another time it was a jar crammed full of jellybeans. He remembered the time a windup toy soldier that played music was drawn out of the magical hat. Once a fine china cup for his mother came out of the hat. The cup had come all the way from Paris. Even a pair of shoes with tiny gold buckles for Baby LeRoy had come from that wondrous hat.
How his uncle managed to get so many different things out of his hat was always a mystery to Olin. Before he ever took the hat to his uncle, Olin always checked it carefully inside and out, but there was never a clue as to what would soon materialize from inside it.
Olin had concluded that Uncle Pembroke was pure magic. In fact, Olin was sure his uncle could make anything happen that he set his mind to. He could turn a frown into a smile or a gloomy day into a happy one.
This visit, however, was to be different. When Uncle Pembroke’s buggy appeared on the little bridge over Sweetwater Creek, the look on the man’s face was as gray as his hair, and no shout was heard from the boy waiting quietly by the front porch.
“Father’s mournful sick, Uncle Pembroke,” Olin announced when the buggy came to a halt. “He’s got a graveyard fever!”
Arthur Pembroke nodded somberly. “I know, Olin. Doc Chamberlain told me as soon as he got back to town.”
“He’s out of his head,” Olin continued. “Mother nearly had to tie him down to the bed.”
The wheelwright put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, and they started toward the house.
“You can help him, Uncle Pembroke!” Olin went on confidently. “I know you can. You’re magic. You can do anything!”
Uncle Pembroke stopped just outside the door and eyed Olin gravely. “I’m afraid there’s no magic in my hat, or in my possession, that can help your father, lad.”
Olin looked at his uncle with surprise. “What do you mean?”
Uncle Pembroke took off his glasses, sighed, and looked Olin straight in the eye. “It’s one thing to pull a rabbit out of a hat, Olin. Anyone can do that if they’re clever enough and their hand is quick enough. It’s quite another thing to snap my fingers and take the fever from a man, even your father.”
Olin sagged, and the near awe he had for the little man with the bright gold spectacles began to evaporate. His uncle sagged inwardly, too, as he beheld the boy’s faith in him flicker.
Uncle Pembroke turned away and started to open the door. Then he paused and looked back, his dark eyes misting. “I do know a kind of ‘magic’ that may help, lad. It’s a power far greater than my own, or even the doctor’s. It will take all of us together to make it work, if it is indeed meant to work.” He regarded Olin with solemn reassurance and motioned for the boy to follow him inside. Olin held back for a moment, his face reflecting his bewilderment.
The moon quivered in the heat waves that poured out of the chimney of the sod house, and the stars shimmered and blinked in the dusky heavens like a million fireflies frozen in flight. Inside, Olin and Uncle Pembroke were kneeling in prayer by the great, warm hearth. Olin shifted his knees. He, like the old man, had been on them for some time. Olin looked up for a moment. He could see his mother seated beside his father’s bed through an open bedroom door. She was wiping a cool cloth across his brow. Then he looked over at Uncle Pembroke. Olin had never seen him so serious, so humble and dependent on a power other than his own.
Olin bowed his head and started to pray again. Sure, he was tired, but how much more tired his Uncle Pembroke must be, and he had not stopped.
Morning’s crimson light splashed down over the top of the dark hills and flooded through the window. Uncle Pembroke stirred from where he had fallen asleep on the floor. He saw Olin still praying by the dying fire. The boy was whispering so as not to disturb his uncle. The wheelwright pulled his crumpled bandanna from his pocket and wiped a tear from his eye.
When Olin’s mother stepped into the room, the sound of the bedroom door closing behind her roused Olin from his fervent prayer.
“His fever’s broken,” Mother said, tears streaming down her face. “He’ll be all right”—her eyes settled on Uncle Pembroke—“thanks to you.”
Uncle Pembroke pointed to Olin. “It’s the boy who kept up the vigil with heaven, Polly.”
Olin blinked back his tears. “And it’s you who showed me the way, Uncle Pembroke.”
Polly, Olin, and Uncle Pembroke knelt together, and Uncle Pembroke, on behalf of them all, thanked a merciful God for extending the life of their loved one.
Uncle Pembroke would come again, and Olin would listen for the welcome sound of the coal-box buggy rattling over the bridge. He would run to greet his uncle, but no longer was it just for the fun of seeing him make magic pop out of his black felt hat. It was more for the pure joy of seeing the wheelwright himself—and for the memory he brought of a power he had helped Olin discover, a power that could lift a man or boy to heaven.